she just has to be
by kerrykins
Summary: Miranda fires Andy on Valentine's Day. Andy wonders how she could be so dense, and why she hadn't seen this coming.


Andy wondered why Miranda had been so- nice to her lately. Flowers on her desk this morning, two days ago a mink scarf, and the week before that, a gorgeous gold necklace. The gifts were only one thing. Another thing was the way she talked to Andy. Miranda was asking all sorts of questions about her personal life, her favourite colour, what books she liked to read. Andy was gleaning all kinds of information about Miranda too. Firstly, the editor liked Jane Austen as much as she did, and they shared interests in classic cinema, poetry, and surprisingly, ABBA music.

Miranda hated turkey, and her favourite show was M*A*S*H. She disliked politics, but was in favour of strong women in government. Caroline really liked Lunchables, much to Miranda's displeasure, and Cassidy's favourite food was gourmet mac n' cheese, which the editor deemed slightly better. Patricia was actually a rescue dog, even though she didn't look like it. Miranda loathed cats, because according to her, they were cold, apathetic, and impossible to please. Shockingly, Miranda's favourite colour was not black, it was apricot.

It wasn't that Andy didn't like this; she loved it, actually, but it was just so sudden and uncharacteristic of Miranda. The only real issue is that these friendly moments with Miranda were further impeding her from getting over this huge crush she had on the editor. Not hero worship, she didn't look at the older woman with stars in her eyes like Emily did, completely blinded by adoration.

No. Andy appreciated her, and thought she was beautiful, smart, and occasionally kind, but there was no doubt in her mind that Miranda had a lot of issues. Paris had been the first indicator of that, many more followed. She'd seen Miranda struggle to maintain order during a family dinner, had to clean up the shards of wine glasses that the editor had violently thrown against the wall, and guided her through a panic attack.

If Andy were somewhat sane, that should steer her away from getting too close to Miranda. Instead, Andy just felt even more drawn to her. Maybe it was out of a sense of duty, a moral obligation to help Miranda. That was her job, after all, helping the editor run Runway. But talking to her, reassuring her, bringing her coffee without her asking and laughing at her snide comments; that wasn't part of her job description.

There was a loud noise, like a thick packet slamming against Emily's desk. Speak of the devil.

"Andrea, let's go." Miranda ordered, her voice serrated like a knife. Oh shit. Andy didn't even have to look up to know she was pissed. "Yes, Miranda." She didn't ask where to, because while Miranda condoned Andy's questions most of the time, the editor certainly wouldn't now.

Andy exchanged a nervous glance with Emily, who sat across from them, watching with wide eyes. It appeared as though she didn't know what was happening either. Great. With hands that only shook a little bit, she opened her phone and began to dial Roy. Miranda wheeled around, her eyes burning blue and furious. She looked on the verge of killing someone.

Because she semi-valued her life, Andy immediately snapped the Nokia shut. Okay, so we probably aren't going out then, she surmised. But where were they going, then?

As Miranda came prowling around the corner, Andy was not at all surprised to see that the halls were totally empty. Emily or Nigel had likely given the rest of the Runway employees a heads-up about the horrible mood Miranda was in. Andy couldn't think of why she was so upset; the Valentine's Day shoot has turned out nicely, and her daughters had stopped by the office earlier to deliver a gift.

It was all very cute, Miranda struggling to keep herself under control, and the girls giggling at her peculiar expression, which they'd called "constipated." Andy was the only one to bear witness to this, and surprisingly received no form of punishment for her intrusion.

Once Miranda had shooed the girls off with a warm smile playing on her lips, she'd glanced at Andy, evidently startled. Instead of rebuking her, her smile only widened, and she'd even chuckled a little bit. Andy had been thinking about it all day.

She supposed that now Miranda was going to inflict some cutting remarks on her or send her on an impossible errand, like when she'd insulted the fashion industry or seen Miranda in the middle of an argument with her good-for-nothing husband.

Once they were alone in the elevator, Miranda finally spoke, her soft voice punctuating the silence between them. "Andrea, you're fired." Andy was unsure if she'd heard her correctly. Three simple words and her whole world came crashing down.

"I'm what?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. "I don't enjoy repeating myself, you know this. Get your things and leave."

Fuck, this had to be a nightmare. "I'm sorry for this morning, if that's what you-" Miranda gave her a glare that could cut through glass, and Andy shrank back.

"Perhaps," she continued, as if Andy had not spoken. "We could continue this discussion over dinner tonight."

The angry, hurt collection of flavourful words Andy had been prepared to let out suddenly deflated, and she frowned in confusion. "What? But... But it's Valentine's Day." Miranda had made her schedule dinner for two at some fancy restaurant tonight, and Andy had planned on bawling her eyes out over rom-coms, and drowning her loneliness in cheap chocolate. It seemed like they both had pretty important things to do, and Andy definitely wouldn't feel comfortable being a third wheel on Miranda's date.

Miranda arched an eyebrow, her face cool with the exception of a faint blush rising on her cheeks. One would never be able to tell that she'd just exploded, fired her assistant, and then invited her for dinner, all within less than an hour.

"Yes, I'm well aware." The editor said after a moment's hesitation. "I expect to see you at 6:35 sharp. And for the love of God, dress appropriately, wear a jacket. Do not be late, I cannot emphasise this enough. That's all."

Andy opened her mouth to answer that no, that was not all, but the bell dinged. Miranda walked off in a whirl of lavender perfume and expensive fabric, and Andy just stood there, dumbstruck.

Andy self-consciously ran a hand down the side of her dress. It hadn't taken long for her to gather up her things at Runway, because Miranda didn't allow her employees to personalise their desks anyways. However, the task of selecting a dress and getting herself ready for this dinner was incredibly nerve-racking and time consuming.

Never in her life had she been so stressed, even when she'd had to track down a vintage Givenchy gown that Audrey Hepburn had worn. Now whenever she watched Sabrina, previously one of her favourite movies, all she could think of were the unaccommodating museum curators, the angry Italian auction dealer, with Emily and Miranda incessantly criticising her.

It was more than worth it though, when Miranda's coffee slipped out of her hands and onto the ground when she'd told her she'd gotten it. Naturally, Andy hadn't received any thanks for her work, but the editor's expression was awestruck, even more so than after the Harry Potter incident. That was payment enough for her.

Andy checked her reflection in a glass window one last time before she walked into the restaurant, and a dapper-looking waiter greeted her with a subtle nod of his head. "Welcome to Per Se. You have a reservation, madam?" He spoke in a polished, European accent that Andy couldn't place.

"Yes, under Miranda Priestly."

The man's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Ah, I see. Right this way, madam. Ms. Priestly, she has not arrived yet." Andy nodded, not at all surprised. She'd deliberately gotten here twenty minutes early, so she'd wouldn't have to run into Miranda.

Emotional preparation was important when it came to Miranda. That was one of the reasons why she'd declined Roy's offer to drive her to workin the mornings, she needed time to get herself ready to face Miranda and Runway.

The waiter turned to a more secluded part of the restaurant, and stopped. "Here is your table." He gestured to the corner with a smile. It was far away from the front of the restaurant, and in between each of the nearby tables was a wood divider and a marble pillar. Only about five of the tables were full, each a considerable distance from hers. "Thank you," Andy said graciously, and the man nodded.

Once she was seated, Andy aimlessly scrolled through her email, desperate for something to do other than fidget in a chair that probably cost more than her rent. God, she was dreading this. Was this going to be some kind of verbal beatdown where Miranda publicly shamed her for being incompetent?

There was a change in the air, and Andy glanced up to see Miranda speaking to the waiter, who paled at something she had said. She wore a shimmering cocktail dress of silver, with metallic panels lining the sleek skirt. Andy recognised it, Valentino, Spring 2008, because Miranda had dragged her along for Fashion Week that time in addition to Paris.

The editor's imperious gaze met hers, and Andy began to sweat when Miranda pursed her lips. Shit, was it her dress? Had she dreamt their whole conversation in the elevator and it actually hadn't happened? Maybe it was her makeup, it was applied messily and-

Miranda glided towards her table, the frightened waiter in tow, and Andy's heartbeat quickened exponentially. As she approached, Andy was able to get a better look at her. Delicate lines of diamonds adorned her ears, and her snow-white hair curled over her forehead. The strapless dress hugged every curve of her body, and she really did shine. Miranda seemed to notice her staring, and her eyes sparkled with laughter.

Andy reminded herself to breathe, because passing out would not be conducive to her surviving this perilous dinner.

"Andrea, I'm glad you could make it." Her voice was soft, almost timid. For some reason, Miranda swiftly kissed her on both sides of her face before taking a seat. The ghost of the older woman's lips tingled pleasantly on her cheeks. Usually, she greeted people with air kisses, but that was very much an actual kiss. Andy wondered why, and also if Miranda had left behind lipstick marks. She sure hoped so.

Andy let Miranda order for her, because the menu was an unintelligible mess of ingredients she was unfamiliar with. What the hell was chocolate emulsion? "We'll have the five course tasting menu, and a bottle of whatever wine suits the meal best."

She choked on her ice water a bit, which made Miranda raise an eyebrow. That was a little excessive, especially on an ex-employee, who had only been an assistant. "Miranda, are you sure?"

"Hm. Are you questioning my judgement?"

Andy felt panic seize her. "N-no, of course not! That's not what I'm trying to do."

"I know. I'm just teasing you, Andrea, calm down." Miranda rolled her eyes, though she didn't actually seem irritated.

"I am calm."

"You are anything but that. You've been fidgeting and looking everywhere but at me. Am I really that intimidating?"

"Kind of. Sorry, I just don't know what I'm supposed to do when your date shows up."

Miranda looked extremely vexed, her brow puckering in confusion as she set down her water glass. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your date. I set up this reservation, dinner for two. You have a date tonight, right?"

"Yes," Miranda said slowly, as if speaking to a toddler. "With you as my dinner companion."

Oh. Andy frowned. That made sense- no, it didn't. That would mean that Miranda had been planning this for a while, because she made that reservation nearly two months ago, Wait-

"Sorry, I'm just a little confused. Why did you fire me, and why am I here?"

Miranda's face was anything but passive, her skin flushed deep pink and she glanced away. "Well. It would be inappropriate for us to have dinner like this as work associates, and I can't afford to be accused of taking advantage of my assistant. Don't fret, Andrea, I'll make it easy for you to find a good job in journalism. That is what you want, yes?"

Andy blinked. This was... a lot to take in all at once. Taking advantage of her assistant, that couldn't mean what she thought it was. Right?

"Um. Yeah, I want to be a journalist. But, I still don't understand."

"Andrea, I cannot lay this out in simpler terms," Miranda said exasperatedly. "You're a smart girl, surely you know what this is. Dinner together, on Valentine's Day. What does that typically mean?" She gestured to the restaurant they were in.

"B-but you're you," Andy stammered. "And I'm me. You can't possibly be serious."

"Yes, I am." Miranda's voice was fierce, and Andy was taken aback by how intensely she spoke. "I wholeheartedly enjoy your company, Andrea. I don't understand why you're having such difficulty believing me. I simply wish to spend more time with you, and by that, I do not mean extending your work hours." Her voice was surpassing its typically quiet register, and the older woman seemed to realise this, pausing momentarily.

"I care about you immensely, more than I should as your employer, or even a friend. Out of the millions of people I've met, you are without a doubt, the very best; kind, warm, and bright. The crème de la crème. You- you've done so much for me, not just professionally. Over the past year and a half, I've come to depend on you, and not constantly having you at my side will be immensely unpleasant. But I'm willing to give you up if you're willing to stay with me, though it would be a vastly different arrangement than our working relationship."

Miranda chuckled, then exhaled deeply. "I cannot believe that I'm saying this to you, in a public setting, when I had initially planned for us to have this conversation at my home. But I feel that deviating from my plan is necessary, considering how skeptical you are of me, and my feelings."

Andy's head spun, her stomach doing frantic somersaults that almost hurt, heart pounding in both elation and shock. Her thoughts were reeling away, too awed, too joyful. Miranda had never been so- candid about anything before. The fact that the first thing she opened up to Andy about was this, was astounding. It couldn't be real. "Sorry, what?"

Miranda's lips curved into a smile. "I feel as though pepper has been sprinkled on my heart, as though tiny fish are swimming in my veins."

"Truman Capote, one of my favourite writers." Andy said with a laugh, and with that, the tension completely broke between them. "He said that." It was a quote from one of his short stories, and Miranda knew how much she liked it.

"Indeed he did." Miranda glanced around them, looking a little amused. "As I've already stated, I didn't plan on professing my feelings for you under these circumstances."

"Miranda, not only was it the nicest thing you've said to me, it's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"I'm glad you feel that way. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this moment."

"Two months, right?"

"No," Miranda sighed. "A year of contemplation and meticulous planning."

Andy's eyes widened. Jesus Christ. "Wow, you really thought this through, didn't you?"

"Yes, it took me ages, but of course you ruined it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I doubt I would have told you all that if my plan had run smoothly. I'd likely have not said anything at all, if I weren't so upset with you."

"Well, then I guess I'm not sorry."

"Mm. Consider your earlier apology forgotten."

"Good."

The waiter set several plates down on the table, and Andy's jaw dropped. Miranda smirked. "Close your mouth, Andrea, it's not very flattering."

"Sorry, this is just so much. What do I start with?"

Miranda picked at a small portion of colourful food, and held the fork up to Andy's mouth. Slightly embarrassed, Andy took a miniscule bite, but moaned a little as it melted on her tongue, shutting her eyes.

Miranda cleared her throat, and Andy's eyes fluttered open to see her toying with her earrings, looking askance. "They're well known for their foie gras."

"I can tell, it's amazing."

"Yes, you certainly looked like you were enjoying that."

"Do I want to know what you mean by that?"

Miranda met her eyes, looking a little sheepish. "Most likely not." Enough said. Andy grinned. "All right. What should I try next?"

The older woman was a regular at this restaurant, that much became apparent. She explained every dish, and gave her own personal opinion on it. Their waiter, the same European man as before, had suggested that they try sampling wine as well. Under their careful instruction, Andy tried this dish with this wine, and so on. By the end, she was completely stuffed, a little tipsy, but happy.

"Darling, we haven't even had dessert yet," Miranda said bemusedly. Andy groaned at the thought of more food, but smiled at the form of endearment.

"Oh god. Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, wouldn't dream of it. After all, the night isn't over yet, and I still have numerous activities planned for us."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "Oh no. That sounds ominous."

Miranda and Andy'd had their first argument; who was going to pay the bill?

"I don't pay you much," Miranda had argued.

"I ruined the date though, remember?"

"No, we've established that you hadn't."

"Well, okay, but I want to pay anyways."

"I'm wealthier, keep what money you have."

"No."

"No? Andrea, I will have you blackballed from the entire publishing industry if you pay."

"...You're not serious, are you?"

"I'm only half-kidding. Andrea. "

Andy sighed. "You're incorrigible. Fine, but you better believe I'm not gonna let you slide again."

By the time they left the restaurant, the night air was crisp and the sky was dark, with a sparse amount of silver specks in the sky.

Without saying anything, Miranda's gloved hand intertwined with hers, and Andy didn't comment on it. Andy offered to dial Roy, but Miranda shook her head, her earrings glinting even in the dark.

"Let's stay out for a little while longer. I don't want tonight to end so quickly."

"Aw, you're sweet. But you have work tomorrow, silly."

"No one has ever called me sweet nor silly in the same sentence. Who do you think you are?"

"I'm your special dinner companion."

"You are no longer employed, and Nigel is more than capable of looking after Runway for a few hours. We have plenty of time."

Andy let out an exaggerated gasp. "Wait, how are you not stressing about this? You're Miranda Priestly, for crying out loud. The woman who redid the entire Gucci shoot because one of the models' legs was a fraction off-centre."

In the dim light of the stars, Miranda rolled her eyes. "Balance is essential, Andrea, and it was the issue's cover."

"Where does a girl have to go before you notice her?" Grace Kelly's character, Lisa Fremont, inquired. She pressed her lips ever so gently against Jimmy Stewart's cheek, her hands drifting along the base of his neck.

"Well," Jimmy started. "If she's pretty enough, she doesn't have to go anywhere."

"Well, ain't I? Pay attention to me."

Andy snuck a glance at the woman on the other side of the couch. Miranda was curled up on one side of the couch, totally enraptured. She smiled. Rear Window was only her third favourite movie, the editor claimed. To Catch A Thief was her first, and Charade was her second, even though it wasn't technically a Hitchcock movie.

Her feet ached because she'd been dragged around the Columbia Circle by Miranda, in heels, for a couple of hours straight. They'd visited bars, walked around Central Park, and Andy nearly fell into the Hudson River. Miranda had gone into a fit of laughter, and she too, almost fell. All in all, it had been an incredible, eventful night.

Andy didn't want it to end. Surely tomorrow would bring all sorts of trouble, like the paparazzi they had stumbled into when passing by the Lincoln Centre. She'd brought it up to Miranda, who waved it off dismissively. "Not of any importance right now," she'd said, and promptly collapsed on her couch, still wearing her makeup and evening gown.

Miranda, as always, was right. Andy scooted nearer, and hoped that Miranda wasn't finicky about personal space like she was at Runway. The editor didn't protest, but she raised her head and gave her a misty smile.

The movie ended with a flourish, and the two women were sound asleep on the couch, their arms around each other.

FIN.


End file.
